Page 23 of Mafia King's Forbidden Vows

Cortez leans over and starts flipping the pages. He stops when he arrives at one with a list of names and corporate logos.

“This is a list of investors who’ve bought stocks from our public listing.” He pauses, allowing me to look through the pages myself before turning them over, “This has moved our capital to triple the normal amount.”

A winning smile spreads across my face as I look up at Cortez for confirmation. He closes his eyes and nods in reaffirmation.

“Sì, Capo. Every major financial player wants a piece of your empire. At this rate, we’ve outpaced every forecast.”

This is the moment I’ve been waiting for. My hands lace together, pressing my fingertips on each other, relishing the feeling of this achievement.

“Competitors like Marcus Winston and Julia Price don’t stand a chance with this momentum,Capo.”

A small smirk tugs my lips as I swirl my chair. This isn’t just a win for me, it’s domination. My name is already at the top of every success chart in the tourism and entertainment industry, but with this latest achievement, it’s never coming down.

***

I would have called Aria to celebrate, but that night, she dealt a serious blow to my ego, and I can’t help but resent her for that. It isn’t the kind of bruise to my pride that I can simply shrug off. No, this feels more like an infected wound − growing more painful by the day, quietly filling with anger until the anguish becomes impossible to ignore.

If it were any other woman, I would have put her in her place - six feet below the ground. Heck, no other woman would have arched her taut nipples against my chest or massaged my swollen cock with her thighs while I plunged my tongue into her mouth and then run away.

But Aria isn’t just any woman, and that is where the problem lies.

Damn!

Hot air rushes from my nostrils as I release a deep breath, leaning into my chair to stare at the jagged silhouette of the skyline.

Men marching past the floor-to-ceiling windows of my office work tirelessly out there, trying to earn my approval. Women fawn when I so much as glance at them. That’s how my life as the mafia don has always worked.

My name opens doors, and my reputation brings men to their knees before me. No one challenged me. No one refused me. No one until her. Aria-fucking-Abruzzi.

The first time she’d run off when I was about to slide into her, I thought it was a game, like Cinderella leaving her glass slipper behind to help the prince find her or however that story goes. But when she refused me the second time, that game was over, and my amusement turned sour immediately.

That sharp breath escapes my nostrils again.

Just thinking about her sight in front of me that night makes my cock so hard right now, throbbing painfully in between my thighs. For fuck’s sake!

This woman doesn’t care what her fingers running their way around my scalp does to me. She doesn’t care that when I inhale the scent of her cherry scented shampoo or taste the strawberry flavored lip gloss she always wears, my sanity drops to a dangerously low level, and all I want to do is part those thighs and ease myself into her wet pussy.

There are so many positions I think of taking her. Even now, I want to bend her over my table, have her arch that slender back so her butt cheeks can be high up in the air, then pound inside her from behind.

The fact that I cannot have her except in my thoughts only makes me want her more. It’s maddening, like a slow virus spreading beneath my skin, infecting every part of my being. I must put an end to this growing distraction.

My desk vibrates, snapping me out of my reverie. When I glance at the caller ID, I let out a huff of breath scornfully.

Aria.

She has to call even now that my mind is preoccupied with thoughts of her.

I let it buzz twice, then pick up on the third ring.

“Well, hello, Princess.”

“Don’t even begin to ‘princess’ me. I don’t have time for that. I found something.” The words roll off her tongue hurriedly, as if she’s in a rush to leave the call.

“Go on,” I lean forward on my desk, interest piqued.

“About the whistleblower, that is,” she’s dishing the words briskly so that I have to pay keen attention to catch every word she’s saying.

“What about him?”

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